“Always.”
“Then youwillhold it together because losing it would mean putting her in harm’s way.” This was the Prima talking to a member of her pride. Not a mother to her son. “You will control your beast. The consequences of not doing so will be a direct challenge to me.”
Bane hissed at the same time Taras snarled.
“Shit.” Nico spat as Raphael gaped at Lyra.
“Wait.” Lola held up both hands. “Wait just a minute. Why is everyone freaking out?”
“We’re freaking out,” Bane said tersely, his eyes on Lyra, “because the Prima just laid down the gauntlet. She told her son that his disobedience would be equivalent to a challenge to her strength to hold her place in the pride. He would have to answer the challenge through combat.”
Lola’s mouth dropped open as she looked at Lyra, who didn’t seem to be concerned at all, and then at her mate. To her shock, he didn’t seem surprised by his mother’s declaration. If anything, he appeared relieved. “Soooo, they’d fight until one of them … gives up?”
“If ‘gives up’ means ‘they no longer fight back because they are dead,’” Nico offered, “then yes.”
Lola’s stomach twisted into knots as she gaped at Callon and then at Lyra. “Why would you do that?” she asked the Prima.
“Because, short ofyouchallenging him, I am the only other person he will do anything he can do tonothave to fight.”
In a convoluted and unhealthy way, it kind of made sense … if you were completely insane. But Lola wasn’t taking any chances with either of their lives. “If you challenge her,” she pointed at Lyra, “then the winner of your challenge has to fight me, because I will consider it a direct challenge for either of you to take the life of someone I love. In which case, I love you both, so neither of you can kill the other.”
Nico groaned. “Why are all the good ones taken?”
“Why do you want to die so badly?” Bane asked the shaman.
“I don’t. I just want a powerful female who challenges me. That shit is sexy.”
“Language,” Taras snarled. Considering he’d not once said anything about anyone using vulgar words up until this point, Lola wondered if he was just trying to regain some control of the situation that had gone to hell in a handbasket.
Nico bowed his head. “Apologies to the ladies present. Now”—he straightened his shirt sleeves—“if we’re all quite done deciding who might kill whom, can we get on with the task at hand?” Without waiting for a response, the shaman began walking at a brisk pace.
Lola followed with curiosity as Nico led them to a seedy dockside tavern.
“I think myself and my little companion should wait out here.” Lyra spoke up and motioned to her purse.
Lola nodded. “Good idea.”
They went inside, and Callon’s hand on her lower back radiated protectiveness as he eyed the raucous patrons. Lola gave what she hoped was a reassuring smile.
The Chaos Shaman bellied up to the bar beside a grizzled, weathered man nursing a beer. Nico gestured discreetly for Lola to join them. Shooting Nico a quelling look, because she still thought this was a bad idea, she reluctantly moved to his side. Callon pressed against her back. She looked up and over her shoulder and saw that he was facing the room, his large frame keeping her hidden from prying eyes. And, no doubt, trying to keep himself under control.
Up close, she could see the customer was strongly built beneath his ragged clothes, with calculating blue eyes that sharpened with interest at her approach. Lola shifted under his frank appraisal, but Nico gave her an encouraging nod. Gritting her teeth, she turned to the stranger.
“Please excuse my friend’s manners,” Lola began politely. “We don’t mean to bother you, but we were hoping…”
The man slammed his drink down with a bang, leering at her crudely. “Well, lookie here, boys! Seems the pretty lady’s going begging.” He crowded closer to Lola as voices called out encouragement. “What services you offering, darlin’?”
Lola opened her mouth to unleash a scathing retort, but before she could speak, Callon was there. With a snarling roar, he grabbed the man by the front of his grimy shirt and slammed him back against the bar. His head cracked against the wood, and his leering bravado evaporated instantly. Primal fury was etched on Callon’s face.
The rest of the seedy tavern fell deathly silent. Out of the corner of her eye, Lola saw the man’s cronies half-rise from their seats, hands clenched into fists. But they froze as Callon turned his blazing golden gaze on them. Power and violence rolled off him in suffocating waves, daring any to approach.
Callon’s lips peeled back and showed the hint of a fang, a clear warning. The men exchanged uneasy glances, hands drifting away from makeshift weapons. One by one, they settledslowly back onto their stools. She quickly placed a discreet hand on his back and tried to push some sort of comfort to him through the bond they shared. He couldn’t lose his cool, at least not completely, because of the challenge issued by Lyra. Wisely, the man’s friends dropped their eyes and left Lola’s mate to handle their offending friend.
Satisfied no one would interfere, Callon snapped his focus back to the man still pinned helplessly in his grip. His face had gone chalky, his eyes round with primal fear at the predator restraining him. He seemed to realize just how close he was to death.
In the fraught silence, Raphael glided casually up to the bar. Turning a placid smile on Callon’s wide-eyed prisoner, he said mildly, “I believe the lady is owed an apology.” When the man just gaped at him, Raphael’s eyes turned from violet to red in a blink and back to violet again. For a brief moment, he actually appeared like the demon he was instead of an inhumanly handsome poser. “Her husband seems rather insistent on the matter.”
The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he stared into Callon’s piercing gaze. “Meant no offense,” he rasped out. Clearing his throat, he added gruffly, “My most humble apologies for the misunderstanding, Mrs.”
